Anthony, Piers - Xanth 24 - The Dastard

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The Dastard

by Piers Anthony

(book 24 in the Xanth Series)

Prolog

PART 1

DRAGON

Draco Dragon oriented on his prey. He saw it fleeing across the plain, having foolishly exposed

itself by daylight here in dragon country. Foolishness had but a single reward: to become food for

a moderately hungry predator.

He angled his wings, banked, and sailed downward. There was a small cloud between him and the

prey, and he maneuvered to keep it in the line of sight as long as feasible, so that the prey

would not realize that it was in danger. But such cover was only temporary; soon he was in the

final lap, and had to depend on sheer velocity. He folded his wings halfway and dived, making

fantastic speed.

Now the prey spied him. It screamed and dived sideways into a pool, surprising him, so that he

missed his first pass. Disgusted, he nosed up, made a looping turn, and came in for the second

pass. The pool was hardly more than a puddle, too shallow to provide much protection. He could

still nab the meat.

But the creature dived under the surface of the water, barely escaping Draco's reaching talons. He

missed again, losing track in the stirred muck. Disgusted, he let fly a belch of fire, vaporizing

a gout of water ahead of him. Then he banked again and came in for a landing. He would pull the

creature out from under and eat it right there.

He landed with a splash, holding his wings high to avoid getting them dirty. The water felt good

on his legs, cooling them, and a pleasant drop landed on his tongue. This was a tasty pond.

He settled in place and waited silently. The creature would have to come up for air soon. Then

there would be a surprise.

The prey popped up. It was a young human woman, very nicely fleshed; she would be delicious, once

he toasted her and burned off her clothes. He took a breath as he met her frightened gaze. There

was a shimmer, and suddenly she looked twice as good, but in a different way.

Then something amazing happened that entirely took away his appetite for food.

Only after he dragged himself away from the pond, exhausted, did Draco figure out exactly what had

occurred. He had blundered into a love spring. His intended prey had become his love object. Oh,

the shame of it! He would never live it down if the other dragons heard about it.

PART 2

DEAL

Anomy was eighteen, and the last thing he wanted to do was settle down on the farm and work for a

living. But not much else seemed to offer. Only if he made a good living would any of the village

maidens be interested in marrying him, and what would that lead to anyway? Storks and babies and

more work.

He wished he could go somewhere interesting and be someone exciting. But he couldn't, because his

magic talent was having stupid ideas. Anything he thought of was stupid, no matter how smart it

seemed at the time. For example, he had once seen a lovely young woman on a beach, and had the

idea to embrace her. But she had turned out to be a sand wench, trying to lure him into a sandy

grave. He had barely escaped. Another time he had found an interesting pot, and thought to clean

it up and give it to a pretty maiden, thereby winning her favor. But it had turned out to be a

crack pot, that had not only had a bad crack on its side, it had made things around it really

weird. The maiden had not been favorably impressed.

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"I detest my stupid life!" he exclaimed angrily.

There was a flicker before him. A cloud of smoke puffed out, and a face formed in it. "You

called?" it inquired.

Anomy halted just outside his tracks. "What are you, smoke-face?"

The smoke extended downward, forming a vaguely manlike figure. "I am the Demon Test," he said.

"Did you not speak my name?"

"Listen, jerk-cloud, I have problems enough without being bugged by demons," Anomy said politely.

"So why don't you go suck your foot up your nose and leave me alone?"

The demon solidified, barring his way. "There is something about you that appeals somewhat to me,"

he said. "You seem to have the attitude of a demon."

"And you have the attitude of a person," Anomy said. "Now that we've exchanged insults, how about

getting out of my way, you bag of dirty smoke?"

"Not until we settle with each other," the demon said. "You summoned me, and so we have to deal."

"How did I summon you, you waft of foul air?"

"You spoke my name. D. Test. So I was duly conjured here, and now we must deal. Name your terms."

Anomy was not much of a human being, but neither was he entirely stupid. "I want a really good

magic talent."

"Fair enough. I want a grungy soul."

Anomy had not gotten much use from his soul, so he figured he could live without it. "So let's

trade. What kind of talent do you offer?"

D. Test considered. "In my wanderings I have scavenged a few things. Let's see if I have any good

talents in here." He formed a large bag and opened it. He pulled out a small object in the shape

of the letter P. When he squeezed it a thin yellow stream jetted out. "Yes! How about this Pee

nut, that can make a person--"

"Forget it; I already have a stupid talent like that."

Test reached in again. "Here is the talent of time travel." He pulled out something that looked

vaguely like an invisible hourglass.

"Time travel? You mean I can go to the future?"

"No, this is more limited. You can go to the past, and change things. So it's really the talent of

unhappening. But there's a catch."

"A catch?" Anomy asked suspiciously. His whole life seemed to have been a series of catches.

"You can go back only as far as right now."

"Right now? But this is the present. That's not time travel."

"It gets better. Tomorrow you can come back to now. Next year you can come back to now. You just

can't go back to before you got this talent."

Anomy thought about that. "So I could come back to now. What could I do with now?"

"I told you. You could unhappen events. You could change something to suit yourself better."

They talked about it, and finally Anomy was satisfied. He handed over his soul and took the

talent, and the deal was done. Neither of them thought about the possible long-term consequences.

PART 3

RULE OF TEN

The ancient old wizened little man pored over his huge tome, searching for an Answer. "There has

to be a way!" he muttered grumpily.

A woman appeared in the doorway, locating it by memory and touch. "What is it, Magician?" she

inquired.

The Magician looked up. Ordinarily he hated company, but his son's wife had a benign effect on

him. "Come in, Wira," he said, already feeling slightly less grumpy.

She entered the dusky chamber, touching a wall lightly. The lack of sufficient light did not

bother her. "Is everything in order?"

"There is a crisis coming, which will require the cooperative effort of a number of people. The

effort must be kept secret, which means no more than ten people may know of it. This is the Rule

of Ten."

"That sounds sensible," Wira said.

"It is sensible. But in order to handle this crisis, eleven people and a bird will have to know.

That means it won't be tight, and the opposition will have a chance to discover it and interfere,

so the outcome is by no means certain."

"One of them can't be excluded?" Wira asked.

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"No. All are necessary. I have gone over the list repeatedly, and all must know. I have tried to

find a way to extend the coverage to eleven or twelve, but the magic won't stretch. The Rule of

Ten is inviolate."

"That's too bad, Magician. What will you do?"

"I will try to find some other way to handle it. There is an element that relates to a small

flying dragon. It is peripheral, but if it should fall into place, the day may yet be saved."

"But Magician, suppose it doesn't fall into place?"

"Then I will sweat," he said grimly.

Wira shuddered. The Good Magician had never sweated in the time she had known him. She hoped he

would find a better way, so they wouldn't have to fumigate the castle.

There was a ding. The ding bat was signaling an event. "Oh, someone is coming," Wira said. "I

should have been more alert."

It was true, but the Magician was never in a mood to blame her. "Show her in."

Wira departed, and he turned pages in his tome, which was the Book of Answers, reviewing what he

would tell the querent. Giving Answers was such a bore, but it was a service he was more or less

committed to, so he acceded grumpily. According to his research, this one was a girl, fourteen

years old, who wanted to know her Purpose. The purpose of any girl was to settle down after a few

more years and make some unworthy man moderately happy for a time. To provide a decent home for

the surplus babies the storks had to deliver somewhere. The girls might see it somewhat

differently, of course, but the Book of Answers wasn't asking them.

Yet the Book had a question mark by her name. Her destiny had not yet been decided, oddly. What

was the problem? Was he going to have to find a special purpose for her? This promised to be more

work than her payment of a year of service would be worth.

The Magician sighed. What use could he make of an innocent girl without a Purpose? He already had

someone to wash the dishes and to pick up dirty socks. In any event, this girl was a crossbreed,

half-dragon, and would require considerably more challenge. A bored girl could be mischief, a

bored dragon could be worse. The combination could be dangerous; the castle furnishings were

flammable. What did he have for her to do that would be sufficiently challenging and, preferably,

away from the castle? It was bad enough trying to fathom the manner a small flying dragon related

to the coming crisis of Xanth, without having to guide a dragon girl.

Dragon--dragon girl. Suddenly a bulb flashed, illuminating the dingy study for an instant. She

could be the connection!

He heard footsteps on the winding stair. Wira was bringing her in.

Feverishly he turned pages of the tome, finding the place. Yes--she was the daughter of Draco

Dragon and an anonymous nymph or maybe human girl caught at a love spring. And she could be the

key to the solution of the crisis, if properly placed. It was no sure thing, but it improved the

chances of success by a significant fraction. Maybe enough to overcome the liability of the Rule

of Ten.

Wira and the girl entered. The Magician looked up from the tome. "Yes?" he inquired grumpily. He

wasn't actually feeling grumpy at the moment, but the forms had to be followed.

"Good Magician, this is Becka," Wira said. "She has navigated the Challenges and has a Question

for you to Answer. She understands that she will be required to give a year's service."

The girl stood shyly, not speaking. She was cute, with blonde hair and brown eyes.

"Let's see your natural form."

Her human aspect became a front; the rear was the body of a dragon with bright green scales, with

purplish tinges at the ends. There were large folded batlike wings. Overall, handsome enough, and

definitely reminiscent of Draco.

"Out with it," Humfrey said, pretending indifference.

"Please, Good Magician--what is my purpose?"

And now he had an Answer. "To effect the welfare of Xanth."

Her human front looked perplexed. "But how can I affect it?"

"Effect, not affect," the Magician snapped. "Now, for your Service, you must go in girl form to

the monument commemorating the Sea Hag's life story, and wait there until a man passes. You will

accompany him and try to help him in whatever legitimate way he wishes. In this manner, in due

course, you may thus effect Xanth's welfare, and your Service will be done."

The girl was not entirely innocent of the ways of men. "But suppose he tries to--?"

"Then turn dragon and chomp him."

"Okay," she said, faintly reassured.

"Take this." He lifted a little globe.

She took it from his gnarled old fingers. As she touched it, it puffed into a little ball of vapor

and dissipated. "What is it?"

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"Awareness. You'll need it."

She nodded, though evidently perplexed. "Thank you so much, Magician."

But the Good Magician was already looking through the Book of Answers for the next situation,

which would involve three little princesses and a bird. Wira guided Becka out.

DASTARD

The Dastard walked through the forest, looking for mischief. It had taken him a while to get the

hang of living without a soul, and to learn to use his talent effectively, but now it had been

four years since his deal with the demon, and he was ready to make more of an impression on the

Land of Xanth. He had cast off his old nothing-name of Anomy and perfected his new one, for the

dastardly deeds he was doing. So he was emerging from his secluded neck of the woods and searching

for greater challenges.

He was well equipped to search, because an aspect of his talent was to have a sense of place/time.

He could tell where and when there was something significant, and so could go there to discover

what it was. His sense informed him that something interesting was headed toward him on this path.

All he had to do was keep going the way he was going.

He encountered a little girl walking the opposite way. "Hi, mister," she called. "Is this the way

to the Good Magician's castle?"

One thing the Dastard had discovered in the course of his restricted practicing was that

significant mischief could come from seemingly minor situations. He had also learned that lies

were precious and vulnerable; it was best not to use one where the truth would do. That way he

could save his lies for the best opportunities. So he told the truth: "No, this is not. But I can

show you the correct route."

She squealed in girlish fashion and clapped her hands. "Oh, thank you so much, mister! Where is

it?"

"First we have to go this way," he said, indicating the way he was going. "For I am just now

emerging from the hinterlands, where there is nothing interesting." That was in part because he

had abolished anything interesting in that region, but he didn't feel the need to clarify that

aspect. Now he needed to find out what was significant about this dull child. "Who are you, and

why do you want to find the Good Magician's castle?"

"My name is Melody Irene Human, and I'm from Mundania," she said proudly. "I was named after a

princess and her grandmother, I think. I want to ask the Good Magician how I can stay in Xanth."

"You think you are named after a princess? Don't you know?"

"Well, you see, I'm older than Princess Melody, so I'm not sure I was named after her. But maybe

she was named after me."

"That makes sense," the Dastard agreed. That wasn't even a lie; the princess could conceivably

have been named after a Mundane girl. There were three little princesses, four years old, named

Melody, Harmony, and Rhythm. Their parents might have had trouble coming up with three names at

once. "If you are Mundane, why do you want to stay in Xanth?"

"I've always loved Xanth," Melody said. "I've always wanted to be here. But my parents don't

believe in it. So I'm going to ask the Good Magician, and even if he says I can't stay, I'll still

have to remain here a year to finish the service for my Answer. That's a lot better than nothing."

This didn't seem to have much potential for mischief, but his sense of significance was seldom

wrong, so he gave it another try. "How did you get here?"

The child launched into her story. "My folks were coming to Florida to visit Disney World. We were

driving south from Virginia. We stopped to eat in Georgia, and there must have been something

wrong with the food my big sister had, because suddenly she was ready to burst with indigestion

and had to get out of the car before she exploded. Dad didn't want to stop, 'cause we were on

Interstate seventy-five you know, and there was no rest stop near. But my sister wasn't fooling,

and Mom said if he didn't want it to happen in the car he'd better pull off in a hurry. I thought

it might be sort of fun to have it happen in the car, you know, having a really big stink, but I

guess Mom wouldn't have seen the humor. So we were passing this section where the north and south

lanes separated, and there were trees growing between them. In fact, there was a whole little

forest there. Dad saw a little trail going in, so he braked and slowed the car to the left and got

onto that trail, into the forest, and out of sight of the highway. Then he stopped, and Mom pretty

much dragged Sis out and they disappeared into the ferns. So I got out and looked around, and you

know, it was different. In fact, it looked sort of magical. I really liked it. But then Mom and

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Sis were done and we had to get back in the car, and Dad turned it around and we drove back out

toward the highway. But we couldn't find it. I said 'Hey, maybe it's a magic forest, and soon

we'll find a house made of candy, and a nice old woman saying ' "Come in, the oven's hot." ' I

thought it was funny, but nobody laughed. Adults don't have much of a sense of humor, and Sis

wasn't feeling all that good at the moment. I learned about the adult deficiency in humor the time

I joked that if Mom had a phantom pregnancy, she'd give birth to a ghost. Not only did she not

laugh, she sent me to my room without dessert. Can you believe it? But when Dad still couldn't

find the Interstate, Mom started yelling at him for making a stupid wrong turn, and he said he

hadn't, he was just coming straight back the way we had come. Then I saw what sure looked like a

tangle tree and I said 'Hey, this must be Xanth!' But they didn't know what I meant, because I'm

the only one in my family who reads the Xanth books. The others are just sort of back in the stone

age when it comes to reading. Dad drove right by that tangle tree. But I kept telling them 'We're

in Xanth! We're in Xanth!' and finally Mom said that if I could show them something truly magical,

then they would believe me. The trail kept on, in fact it became a trollway, but Dad thought the

sign was a joke. Then I spotted a centaur, and I yelled 'Stop the car! Look out the window to the

left!' Dad and Mom and Sis looked out, sort of sneeringly, but then they saw it, and their mouths

dropped open. The centaur saw the car and spooked; I guess he never saw a car before. He ran off.

But now my folks had their minds halfway open, for a change. Then we came to the Gap Chasm and had

to stop. I told them to turn in the direction of the bridge and Castle Roogna, and when we crossed

the Gap they really believed, 'cause it was so wide and deep. So we got there and I wanted to see

the king and queen so maybe we could get a house to live in, but my folks just wanted to find the

way back to dreary Mundania. But nobody's figured out how to return yet, so while they're thinking

about it, I'm on my way to see the Good Magician, to find out how I can stay here. I mean, I may

never get another chance, 'cause I don't think we'd ever find that one trail that led into Xanth

again."

The Dastard considered. A whole Mundane family stranded in Xanth, and the youngest member eager to

stay. The Good Magician would probably find a way for her, too, and she would surely be endlessly

happy, having lucked into her dream. This did seem like a worthy project.

The Dastard didn't say another word. He slid into limbo and traveled back in time two days. As he

did, he guided himself toward the north, looking for the area where the Mundanes had entered

Xanth.

It took a while, but it didn't matter, because he remained in limbo during his excursions in

place/time and it didn't affect his real life. He slid back and forth between one and two days

ago, and canvassed the general region. His sense of significance got a bit fuzzy in limbo, but he

knew he would get it straight eventually. He finally saw the family enter, passing through a

glitch in the magic boundary without knowing it. Good; he had it spotted.

He slid to the time one hour before their arrival. Then he emerged into real existence at the

boundary. He dragged fallen branches to the trail and formed a pile that blocked it off. He laced

the branches with brush to make it look entirely impassable.

He finished just in time. The odd Mundane vehicle was just arriving. It would have to stop outside

Xanth, and would never know what it had missed.

He relaxed, and the place/time vortex pulled him back to the present. He emerged in the precise

place and time he had left it, on the path he had been walking with the girl. But now there was no

girl. Melody Irene Human had never entered Xanth.

The Dastard rubbed his hands together in glee. He had just performed another dastardly deed. He

had deprived the family of its phenomenal experience, and the girl of the accomplishment of her

dream. That made him feel good.

He continued in the direction he had been going, where his sense informed him that there was more

significance ahead. Soon another traveler appeared. This was an old woman. "Pardon me, young man,"

she said. "Could you tell me what this year is?"

"It is the year eleven hundred," the Dastard replied, finding no good reason to deceive her. The

woman looked old enough to have misplaced a few years, which was probably why she was uncertain.

"Eleven hundred!" she exclaimed, surprised. "Is Castle Roogna still in existence?"

For some reason, this question struck him as odd. But there still seemed to be no harm in the

truth. "Yes."

"That's good. I was afraid it might have fallen or been deserted in eight hundred and fifty

years."

This seemed even odder. "If I may ask," he said politely, for politeness was always best until he

knew enough to make rudeness really count. "Who are you?"

"I am Sorceress Tapis. I make magic tapestries. Because of a complicated situation that I need not

bore you with, my body became a magic seed, and it recently sprouted, returning me to my former

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state. Now I shall do my best to make do in the Land of Xanth as it is presently constituted. I

trust there remains a market for magic tapestries."

The Dastard remembered the Sorceress Tapis from his centaur-school history lessons. They would

certainly be glad to see her at Castle Roogna. One of her magic tapestries still hung in the

children's room there. It showed all of Xanth geography and history, and was a prime source of

entertainment and amusement. There would surely be a rich market for more tapestries. The

Sorceress would be highly successful and renowned.

So the Dastard re-entered place/time. He quested until he found the time and spot where the

Sorceress had sprouted from the seed. A heavy rain had wet it, making it come to life. He moved to

one hour before that. He picked up the dry seed and put it in the dry hollow of an acorn tree. He

sealed the hollow with a fragment of wood, so that no water could get in. It would not get rained

on, and would not sprout this day, or for many, many days to come. In fact, maybe never.

He relaxed, and was drawn back to his place/time in the present. He resumed walking along the

path. The Sorceress Tapis was gone; indeed, she had never been there. He had performed another

gratifyingly dastardly deed. He felt great.

This path had been worked out, but his sense informed him that there was another significant nexus

not far away, along a side path. He took that route, and continued until he encountered another

female. She was twelve years old, and suddenly appeared before him on the path. "Who are you?" he

inquired.

"I am Surprise, the child of Grundy Golem and Rapunzel. I have many talents, but can use each one

only once. Then it is gone. I just discovered that eventually my used talents will replenish, so I

can use them again, if I just have enough patience. Isn't that wonderful?"

"That should make you very happy," the Dastard said. "How did you discover it?"

"I was sitting by a pleasant pool, looking at my reflection in the clear water, and I remembered

how I had once made a ball of water. Before I thought about it, I did it again. Then I remembered

that I couldn't use a talent a second time. I was amazed. So I tried another old talent, and a

third one. I discovered that my oldest talents had recovered, but the ones I had used recently

were still gone. So I figured it out. I'm really, really pleased. I just had to tell someone, and

you're the first person I've seen since it happened. Well, farewell." She spread her arms and flew

away without wings.

The Dastard went back into place/time travel. He explored until he found the clear pool where the

girl had seen her reflection and made her discovery. He went to the time just a few minutes before

her arrival there. He scooped up handfuls of mud and stirred them into the water until it was

impossible to see any reflection. It would be hours before it cleared. The girl would not see her

reflection, and not think the thoughts that had led to her discovery. She would not know what she

missed.

He returned to the present. Another dastardly deed accomplished. This was turning out to be a

great day.

But it was not over. If he hurried, he could nab yet another significant nexus. They were thick

and fast, out here in unmolested Xanth. He ran back along the path to the main one, found another

side path, and followed that. He encountered a man, an adult of moderate age, and handsome. "Who

are you?" he inquired.

"I am Ho," the man replied. "I am traveling to see the Princess Ida, hoping she will find my

talent useful. I think she will. I might even marry her, if she likes me well enough. Maybe we'll

have a child named Idaho who will have a talent with potatoes."

Princess Ida was Princess Ivy's twin sister. Her talent was the Idea, and she had whole worlds of

ideas. She could make any idea come true. But it had to originate with someone else, who did not

know of Ida's talent; Ida could not make her own ideas come true. That was the one limit on an

otherwise extraordinary talent.

"What is your talent?" the Dastard asked Ho.

"It is selective amnesia. I can make a person forget any particular thing he or she wants to. This

would enable Princess Ida to forget the nature of her talent, and it would thus become far more

useful to her. I think she should be very pleased."

The Dastard nodded. This could make an enormous difference. Probably Ida and Ho would like each

other, and would marry, and be happy forever after, and do much good with their new ideas. A

wonderful future awaited them. How dastardly it would be to deny them that.

But as yet he wasn't sure how to do it. Ho was already on his way, and had a clear notion what he

wanted; it seemed to be too late to change that. But there had to be a way. Sometimes the

intellectual quest was more difficult than the physical one. "What gave you the notion of doing

this?" he asked.

Ho, like most innocent upright decent folk, was glad to answer openly. "It was sheer coincidence.

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Last month I was walking along the path from my village when I happened to stumble on a stone I

didn't see. I didn't fall, but its sharp ridge caught my shoelace and broke it. So I had to

replace the lace. So I turned around and went back to the village for a new shoelace from Lacey,

the woman who makes them. This time her new husband was there, a man I hadn't met before. So we

chatted, and he turned out to be descended from Ghost King Warren, whose talent after he died he

said was making ghosts. He inquired about my talent, and I told him, and he said that might be

useful for Princess Ida. I had never thought about that, but the more I considered it, the more

intriguing it seemed, until finally I decided to do something about it. So here I am, on my way--

all because of a broken shoelace."

The Dastard didn't wait. He phased into limbo, orienting on that place/time where/when Ho had

broken his shoe-lace. In due course he found it, and entered regular existence just before Ho came

down the path. He picked up the rock Ho was about to stumble on and hurled it into the brush. Then

he returned to the present. He was alone; Ho was not making his journey to meet and marry Princess

Ida. There would be no child, and no potatoes.

Oh, this was wonderful! The day was yet young, and he had already abolished four significant

events.

However, there was nothing remaining in this general place or time; he had used it up. It might be

another day before he found anything else.

He was hungry, so he paused at a path-side stand that served freshly harvested pies. There was a

small orchard of pie trees behind it, obviously well cared for. The young woman tending the stand

was unusually pretty; she practically glowed in a lovely green hue, from her blondegreen hair to

her fair-green complexion. The Dastard liked her immediately, so he struck up an acquaintance.

"Who are you?"

"I am Jade," she replied. "My talent is to make anything into a jade stone." She indicated a

number of jade stone statuettes she had converted from other substances.

"Are you married?"

She giggled, embarrassed by the directness of the question. "Of course not!"

This looked promising. One thing the Dastard lacked was a woman to appreciate him. For various

reasons that escaped him, girls tended to avoid him once they got to know him, so he had had no

serious romantic relationship despite being twenty-two years old. He had thought his acquisition

of his wonderful talent four years before would change that, but it hadn't. So he was still

looking, and maybe Jade would do.

"How about marrying me?" he asked.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly do that," she said.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm in love with Mac."

Oops. He had forgotten to ask whether she had a boyfriend. Pretty girls usually did. But maybe the

situation wasn't wholly hopeless. "Who is Mac? What's his talent?"

Jade was happy to talk about her boyfriend. "He's just the most handsome, smart, wonderful person

I know. He's different. He can split into three likenesses, called Mac, Mike, and Mal, and each is

a bit different in looks and temperament, so it's never boring. We met three years ago, and it

just got better, so now we're going to marry and be happy forever after. Oh, it's just so utterly

thrilling!"

The Dastard was really getting to dislike this Mac/Mike/Mal. But maybe if he could get rid of him,

Jade would be available for himself. Three years was within his range. "How did you meet him?"

"Well, I was baby-sitting for Okra Ogress three years ago. Her twins were Og and Not-Og, five

years old. Og was already getting really stupid, even for an ogret boy, and Not-Og was getting

really ugly, even for an ogret girl. He could lose track of how many toes he had, and she could

curdle cream with one smile. In short, they were wonderful ogre children, and Okra was really

proud of them. But her husband Smithereen had gone on a boulder-smashing expedition and not

returned, so she knew he was lost, and she had to go find him, and so she left the twins with me,

the neighbor's daughter. It was a few weeks before she returned, and the ogrets were getting

bored, so I took them for a walk in the woods, where they could practice being really stupid and

ugly. I didn't have to worry about safety, because nobody who isn't duller than an ogre--and there

are none such--ever bothers an ogre. Or an ogret. The very greensward cringed at their approach,

and the sun dimmed when they glanced at it. They both had fun twisting small trees into pretzels

and teaching young dragons the meaning of fear; these are just things ogres naturally do. They are

so justifiably proud of their strength, stupidity, and ugliness.

"Then Fracto drifted by. That's Cumulo Fracto Nimbus, the worst of clouds, always looking for

picnics to rain on or valuables to blow away. He thought he would have some fun with the ogrets,

because he figured they couldn't do anything back to him. He made a foggy face and started blowing

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up a storm. But it didn't turn out the way he expected. The wind stirred up half a soul that had

been half buried somewhere, and as it flew by, Og grabbed it, and held it, wondering whether to

eat it or squeeze it into pulp. Just then a stone gargoyle happened to pass by, and Not-Og smiled

at it, for a moment petrifying it with her un-beauty. When it stood immobile, she pulled off one

of its gargoyle socks, admiring its colors. Og saw that, grabbed it, and stuffed the half soul

into it. Not-Og snatched it back. Og grabbed it again and hurled it into the cloud. The half soul

escaped and found Fracto. That made Fracto turn halfway good. He collapsed his storm front and

sailed rapidly home to the Region of Air where his partner Hurricane Happy Bottom lived, and they

did whatever clouds do to summon the stork, and after that Fray came on their scene, and she got

the half soul. Just what sort of a cloud she will turn out to be we don't yet know."

"This is all very interesting," the Dastard said, expending a fair sized lie at this point,

because it was really all very boring. "But what does it have to do with your meeting

Mic/Muck/Mock?"

"That's Mac/Mike/Mal," Jade said sharply. "I'm coming to that." She gave him a brief green stare,

then resumed her how-we-met narrative. "The day was getting on, so we started back toward home.

But the ogrets heard someone declaiming heroic poetry and ran to see who it was, and I had to

follow. It turned out to be a woman polishing a freshly waxed statue. It was the statue doing the

declaiming. For a moment I was mystified what it all meant, but then I realized that she was

waxing poetic. Fortunately poetry bores ogres, unless they are speaking it themselves, so that

didn't hold the twins long. We resumed our trek, and encountered a group of big furry animals. I

hadn't seen anything like them before, so I inquired: 'What kind of creatures are you?' And two of

the biggest ones, who seemed to be males, replied 'We are bears. We are Bears Noting, and these

are bears mentioning.' They indicated two females. 'And we are bears repeating, bears repeating,'

two small ones said. That left one more, who was busy scratching figures on a pad he carried. He

looked very interesting, but didn't speak. "Do you feel you are of no account? I asked. 'By no

means,' he responded. 'I am an interest bearing account.' So then I understood, and we went on

toward home."

"But about 3M," the Dastard said, trying to stifle his burgeoning impatience.

"I'm getting there," Jade said severely. "We had to stop, because there was an imp ass. It was

just a little mule, but we realized it had strayed from a settlement of imps and needed to be

returned. So Og picked it up, and Not-Og smiled around until most of the surrounding foliage

wilted, and there was the imp colony. Og set the imp ass down there, so that it no longer blocked

our way. The imps were very grateful, so they told us where we could find some nice varieties of

thyme. A person can never get too much thyme, so we thanked them and went there; it wasn't far off

the path, but we would never have found that patch on our own. There was 2/2 Thyme, and 4/4 Thyme,

and 6/8 Thyme--just a great variety of very special Thymes. So I gathered a timely assortment, and

we started back for home again."

"Will you get on with it!" the Dastard said, becoming foolishly impatient. He was beginning to

wonder if this pretty green woman was worth the effort. Her endless talk was as dull as she was

lovely.

"I'm getting there," Jade said, favoring him with a glare. "We started back--and there, coming

along the path the other way, was Mac. I was so surprised that I fell back. Right on my soft

bottom, as a matter of fact. A stray gust of wind came at that moment. My skirt flared up and gave

him a good flash of my panties. Maybe that was just as well, because he froze in place, as men do,

and remained that way until I got back on my feet. I realized that chance had enabled me to

capture his attention. He was a handsome man, so I decided to keep it. And that was the beginning

of it all, and soon we will be married. Meanwhile, the ogres--"

But the Dastard was already fading into limbo. He went back three years, then zeroed in on the

thyme patch. He considered half a moment, then set about fashioning a baffle. He set it up by the

path, just upwind of the place Jade would tumble, so that when the stray gust of wind came, it

would be deflected before it reached her skirt, and her skirt would not flare, and the man would

not see her panties. So she would not catch his attention, and they would pass without noticing

each other.

He returned to the present. There was Jade, just as pretty as before. "So how about marrying me?"

he asked again.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly do that," she said. "I'm in love with Eck."

"Eck?" he asked distastefully.

"Eck Sray, my fiancé," she explained. "He sees through things. When we first met, he saw right

through my skirt to my panties, and--"

Oh, no! He had abolished the incident that attracted Mac's attention to her, only to have her meet

another man who was attracted by the same thing. Which meant that the Dastard still didn't have

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any decent chance to get an indecent look himself.

He was tired of such frustrations. So he decided to snatch what spot of pleasure he could, and

move on. His talent had one more aspect that could be extremely useful on occasion, and this might

be such an occasion.

He reached across the table and caught Jade's head. He pulled her in for a hot kiss. It was pretty

good, considering that her lips were mushy; surprise had made her forget to firm them.

Then she jerked away and screamed. A huge older man appeared from the garden. "What's the matter,

honey? This creep bothering you?"

"Yes, Father," she said. "He kissed me!"

"Well now," the man said grimly. He strode toward the Dastard, raising a hamfist.

But the Dastard got out of there by going into limbo and changing his own recent past. He could do

that, to a limited extent. He could go back as far as a day, if he hadn't been changing the lives

of others, or otherwise as far back as the last change he had made. When he changed others, that

fixed his own presence, lest he run afoul of paradox. So in this case he was limited to about five

minutes, since he had abolished Mac. That was enough; he went back to just before he kissed Jade,

and this time he didn't kiss her. The episode had never happened.

But he remembered it. He was the only one who could remember events that he had made unhappen. So

that he didn't lose his awareness of his own dastardly deeds. After all, what would be the point,

if he didn't remember?

Jade was still talking about how great Eck Sray was, and how they were going to be married soon,

and then he wouldn't need to see through her clothing to see her panties, because she would show

them to him anytime.

"Uh, sure, thank you," the Dastard said, trying to control a fit of jealousy, and moved on. She

was a pretty girl, but as usual he had gotten nowhere. He hated that.

There was another nexus some distance ahead. Maybe that would be better. He needed something to

shore up his spirits. He had a great talent, and he had no soul, which gave him wonderful freedom,

but it wasn't enough. He wanted a woman, too. A pretty one.

Farther along he spied an animal going the opposite way. Was this the nexus? No, his sense did not

respond. But the creature approached him. It was a male canine, but did not seem to be a werewolf.

What did it want?

He saw that it wore a mundane collar, from which dangled a little sign. He read the sign: MY NAME

IS BOSS. I AM A 90 POUND BLACK LABRADOR DOG. I LOST MY HOME AND AM LOOKING FOR A NEW ONE. CAN YOU

HELP?

"Certainly I can help," the Dastard said. "But I won't. Go away."

The dog walked sadly on. It was momentarily satisfying to frustrate him, but hardly worth the

effort.

In due course he came to the nexus. It was at a statue of the Sea Hag, a Sorceress he had always

admired. She took the bodies of young pretty girls and used them until they got worn and ugly,

then moved on to others. She must have a fabulous history! She was old, in spirit if not in

current body, and must have been around since the dawn of Xanth.

Then he saw a girl standing there by the statue. She was sort of halfway pretty, with blonde hair

and brown eyes, but young. The Adult Conspiracy could get after a man who tangled with too young a

girl; he had had some experience, and didn't need any more. So she was of no personal use to him.

Still, she was at the nexus, so this needed to be investigated.

She saw him, "Did you see a big dog? I thought I saw one not long ago, maybe looking for a home."

The Dastard ignored this. "Who are you?" he asked her.

"My name is Becka," she said. "Who are you?"

That set him back. The Dastard was not used to people asking him questions. "Why do you want to

know?"

"Because I'm supposed to wait here until a certain man comes, and then I'm supposed to go with him

and help him in whatever way he wishes. I need to know whether you are that man."

This was interesting. She was at the nexus, and she wanted to help him. Maybe she was what he was

looking for, despite her youth. If she didn't tell, who would ever know? So he gave it a try.

"Kiss me."

"No."

"If you're supposed to help me--"

"Not that way."

"How do you know?"

"I'm too young."

"Maybe not," he said. He grabbed her and sought to kiss her.

Suddenly he was holding on to a dragon with purple-tinged bright green scales.

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He backed off five minutes and tried again. They went through the introduction, and this time he

answered her question. "I am the Dastard, because I do dastardly deeds. Do you have a problem with

that?"

"I guess not," she said. "You must be going to do something good for Xanth, that I'm supposed to

help you with. Otherwise the Good Magician wouldn't have sent me."

"The Good Magician! He sent you to meet me?"

"Yes. Didn't you know?"

"No. Why should that little old wizened gnome want to do anything for me?"

"I don't know. My guess is he wants to do something good for Xanth."

The Dastard pondered. This was a curious business. He hadn't known that Magician Humfrey even knew

about him, let alone wanted to help him. Maybe it would be better to slide back through limbo and

nullify that connection. But he hesitated, because he knew the Good Magician was a sharp old

codger with a lot of information, and if he changed Humfrey's action once, he would not be able to

change it again thereafter, because of the rule of paradox. Maybe the Good Magician was counting

on that, to mess him up. So he would play along, and learn more about it, not acting until he was

sure. Having a good magic talent was one thing; using it effectively was another.

Meanwhile, here was this girl who could become a flying dragon. She was obviously no prospect for

any romance, and not just because she was too young. She could defend herself. He hated that. But

she might indeed be useful, if he could figure out how.

"Very well," he said. "Tag along for a while. And if you don't like what I do, then you can

depart." And that would get rid of her without putting him into any paradox bind with respect to

the devious Good Magician.

"Okay," she agreed.

It was definitely a nexus, but not one he properly understood. Yet.

THREE LITTLE PRINCESSES

They were four years old, and they were bored. It wasn't all that easy to be a princess. Their

mother, the Sorceress Ivy, had the talent of Enhancement, and she certainly had been using it

recently. Every trifling wee little inconsequential thing had been magnified beyond all reason. It

was said that this was any mother's talent, but that didn't make it easier to endure.

For example, there was the incident of the Pay Phone. Xanth had gotten connected in the past year

or so to a magical network called the Mundane Mega Mesh, which folk like Com Pewter and Com

Passion tied into. But because it related to Mundania, which it seemed was not quite as stodgy a

region as reputed, there had to be a Phone. So a Pay Phone had appeared in Castle Roogna. A person

could talk into it all she wanted, but somebody had to Pay. Somebody else took care of that; it

wasn't their concern. They had gotten hold of the Phone and discovered how to talk for hours to

several people in Mundania, including something called Phone Sects. It had been mysterious but

fun. But Mother had magnified it ludicrously, and forbidden them to touch the Phone again.

Then there was the See Saw in the playground. It had eyes to see what it sawed, and they used it

to saw through several things, like the door to their bedroom. What was the problem with that?

They had discovered that See Saws even had conventions, and had used their Saw to travel from See

to shining See. But Mother had claimed they were lost for those three days, and had half a

conniption. She had not been reasonable at all.

And the pair-it. This was a pretty green bird that doubled objects it touched. So it made pairs of

their toys, beds, potties, and dresses. And pairs of the pairs, unendingly. Soon their room was

filled with pairs of things. In fact, they overflowed into the hall. That was when the adults got

involved, and there was another awful fuss about nothing much.

So here they were, shut in with absolutely nothing to do except practice their talents. This was

to sing and play things real. So far they had used it mostly for illusions, such as fancy castles,

complete with secret chambers and moats filled with tasty tsoda pop from the lake, and of course

Soufflé Moat Monster. They had even managed to make the castles solid, so that they were no longer

illusions, but had to keep them small, like dollhouses, so they would fit in the room. But there

was a limit to the interest of conjured little castles, and anyway, Mother didn't like the moat

water splashing across the floor and dripping on the heads of visitors in the rooms below. Yet

another molehill made into a mountain.

"Maybe we can have a good pillow fight," Melody suggested. She wore her customary green dress, to

go with her green/blonde hair. She was most like her mother Ivy, including her blue eyes. "And

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